Chapter Three
Hermione arrived at the café precisely on time, which annoyed Draco. It was raining - no surprise - and he had stood in it for five minutes waiting for her. He hadn't needed to; the café had a wide awning and indoor seating, either of which he could have used. But waiting in the rain cut a far more pathetic figure, and he was naturally inclined to be as petulant as possible before his morning tea.
His mood soured further as Hermione greeted him with a smile and a chipper "Good morning!" It must have shown on his face, for her sunny expression faltered. "I hope I haven't kept you waiting long."
"Five minutes."
She furrowed her brow. "Why didn't you wait inside?"
He elected not to answer. "Are we going to do this or not?"
"Of course," she said, stepping in front of him and opening the door herself before he could get to it. He decided then that, just as he was inclined to be petulant, she was inclined to be infuriatingly independent. If he wasn't careful, she might even try to pay.
Fortunately, she ordered first, so he was able to pick up the cheque for their croissants, tea (for him), and café au lait (for her).
"You didn't have to do that," she said, tucking a curly strand of hair behind her ear as they took a seat by the window.
"You said it was a date," he pointed out, as if that settled the matter.
Her cheeks turned light pink, and she wrapped her hands around her cup. "Yes, I did, didn't I?"
"And you'll see after today that -"
She waved away his remark. "Let's not discuss that right now," she interrupted.
He took a sip of tea and immediately felt more human. "Very well. What would you prefer to discuss?"
Her brown eyes shone over the rim of her mug. "Are Blaise and June an item?"
Draco grinned, and before he knew it, a very pleasant fifteen minutes had elapsed. Cups and plates emptied, Draco rose. "Shall we?"
"If we must," she replied, much to his satisfaction. He helped her into her raincloak, opened the door for her, and offered her his arm for the brief walk to a nearby alleyway. They Apparated into the Ministry's Atrium separately, and Draco had to squelch the desire to offer his arm to her once more.
"I really enjoyed this morning," she said as they walked to the lifts side by side. "Thank you for breakfast."
"My pleasure," he replied. "Maybe we can do it again sometime?"
The lift door clanged shut before rocketing them to Level Two. "Maybe," she said with a small smile as the door opened.
When she walked away from him, Draco had almost forgotten why they had arranged the date in the first place. But seeing their tiny office brought it all back: Hermione had flatus that could wither plants, and today would prove it. He sighed as he sat, wondering if it was in fact better to live in ignorant bliss.
The morning passed with no suspicious smells, and Draco faced noon with a growing dread. Weasley arrived on time, as usual.
"Almost ready to go, Hermione?"
"I'm swamped today," she answered. She sold the lie well, not even looking up from her parchment to do so. "I'm going to skip. Would you let Harry know?"
Ron frowned a little, then leaned half his body out of the office to shout "Oi, Harry! Hermione's not coming to lunch!" down the hall.
"Circe's tits, Weasley," said Draco. "Must you disturb the entire office with that newsflash?"
"No," he countered, leaning back into the office. "Just you." He thumped the doorjamb with his palm. "Talk to you later, Hermione."
"See you," she said with a distracted wave. Then he left, closing the door behind him.
"Well done," Draco said once the door had clicked shut. "It's like you've been lying to him for ages."
Her cheeks pinked as she set down her quill. "It wasn't a lie - I am busy today."
"Yes, busy with me," he appended with a smug smile.
She gave another dismissive wave, but there was no mistaking her grin. "The details of what I'm busy with are of little importance."
Draco heard the silent, "To him," but in a fit of tact, decided not to remark on it. Instead, he changed the subject.
"What's for lunch today?"
Hermione opened her desk's bottom drawer and pulled out a small, insulated bag. "I packed a turkey sandwich with an apple, carrots, and a bag of crisps. It's exactly what I had on Tuesday. You?"
"Spinach salad with chicken," he said, setting the container on his desk. "To your health, Granger," he said with a nod.
She grinned at him and lifted her sandwich toward him in an analogous toast. "To yours, Malfoy."
Thirty minutes later, Draco threw down his quill in disgust, splattering ink across his blotter.
"Really, Granger? Limburger? How much cheese was on that sandwich?"
"None!" she said, gagging over the distinctive, sweaty-socks stench. "Sweet Merlin, open the door!"
"Gladly!" He nearly vaulted his desk in the effort to escape their office. Hermione hurled herself out after him, colliding with his back.
"I can't believe you." He kept his voice low, but made sure to suffuse it with all the betrayal he could muster.
"If you believe that smell came from me, then you're more ignorant of human biology than Ron," she snapped. A second later, she froze, her eyes wide in sudden realization. "Ron…"
She ran her fingers over their doorjamb, then and with a deep breath – and an impressive amount of courage – darted into the putrid fog. She reappeared with their raincloaks. She shoved Draco's into his arms, giving him a hard look as she shrugged on her own.
"Let's go."
He didn't bother asking where; he thought he knew. They marched down to the Atrium, and he stood back as she threw Floo powder into a hearth the size of a hippogriff. She stepped in first and reached a hand out toward him, curly hair swirling in the rushing flames. Draco took it, and she pulled him close, shouting "Diagon Alley!" as she did. Draco clamped an arm around her waist, tucked his head down into her shoulder, and braced himself as they spun through the network.
They landed hard and stepped from one of Diagon's many communal Floos into the bustle of the Alley proper. Draco's arm lingered perhaps a moment too long around Hermione's waist, as evidenced by her raised brows and expectant look. He released her, and she was off at once, weaving her way briskly through the crowds. Draco lost her a few times, but they could only have one destination, a neon purple pillar amongst a wall of dark brown and grey.
Weasleys' Wizard Wheezes.
"That interfering little rodent," Draco snarled beneath his breath when he caught up with Hermione at the shop's door.
"We don't know for sure yet," she said, clearly trying – and mostly failing – to maintain her veneer of rational calm.
"I'm going to hex him into next year for this."
"Hush. And stop scowling. We're here for a discussion, not a shake-down."
"Speak for yourself," he muttered.
She gave him a gimlet eye, and entered the shop.
The shop suffered from its characteristic crowds, witches and wizards of all age looking to cause a little mayhem. Draco placed a hand on her waist so as not to lose her in the crowd as she headed toward the back of the shop. She nodded to the good-looking woman running the till and pushed her way through a set of thick, purple curtains to the shop's rear.
Draco craned his neck at the stacks of inventory that climbed from floor to ceiling, each pristinely labeled and organized.
"George?" Hermione called.
The one-eared ginger popped into view from the balcony. He wore a heavy apron with matching, elbow-length gloves and thick goggles.
"Hermione!" he said jovially. "Skiving off work! I knew you'd come 'round to our business model."
"Hardly," she replied. "I need to talk to you."
"Right-o. Give me a moment." George vanished into the same room from which he'd come, and when he reappeared, it was without the protective equipment. He slid down a rickety-looking ladder and swept Hermione into a hug.
"Ready for a career change?" he asked, holding her at arm's length. "Ministry driving you nuts?"
"Something like that. We have a couple of questions for you."
George's warm expression vanished as he turned to Draco.
"He giving you trouble?" George asked, his broad shoulders visibly tensing.
Draco scoffed. "Hardly. And I think Granger can handle herself, Weasley. No need for a knight in fuchsia armor to come galloping to her rescue."
"Let's stay on topic," Hermione cut in levelly. "We need to know if you're working on anything new, George."
"Weasleys' Wizard Wheezes is known for its new products," George answered, relaxing as he turned away from Draco. "It's safe to assume my pipeline is full."
"Specifically, then. We need to know if you're working on anything associated with smells. Er…" She shared a look with Draco. "Bad smells."
George looked between them, a slow smile spreading across his face. "So he's testing them on you, is he?" he asked with a chuckle. "I said they would get him in trouble." George whirled in place, his fluorescent pink robes flaring out around him in what Draco thought was an ostentatious and unnecessary bit of showmanship.
Unnecessary, but effective. George ended his twirl with his arm outstretched, five small boxes arranged in a pyramidal stack upon his palm. Each was a different, revolting color: brownish olive green, graying puce, rusty brown-orange, sickly mustard yellow, and green-tinged beige.
"One of my newer products, still in testing," George explained as Draco plucked the beige-green box from the top of the stack. Two clear beads of opalescent liquid, each about as big as a woman's stud earring, were suspended within. He dipped a finger in to scoop one up, but paused when George let out a tense breath from between his teeth.
"Careful with that."
"What is it?"
"The Barking Spider." Draco lifted an eyebrow. "The Pocket Frog. The Silent Fury. S.B.D. I'm still working on the marketing."
"S.B.D.?"
George turned to Hermione with a wink. "Silent But Deadly. It's my version of a Stink Pellet, but for those merrymakers with an eye for espionage. It's a delayed release formulation, so you can escape before the odor hits. The formula won't stick to skin, but will stick to other surfaces, like your least favorite professor's desk or the shirt of a good-humored friend. Non-toxic, non-staining, and guaranteed to irritate. The odors range from annoying" – he nodded at the brown-green box in Hermione's hand, which reminded Draco of rotting broccoli – "to downright disgusting." His eyes shifted to the box, still open, in Draco's hands.
"Limburger?" he guessed.
"Quite. Angelina was not pleased with the development of that one, though it did lead to some excellent bath time fun," he finished with a waggle of his eyebrows.
Draco frowned at him on principle, though the idea wasn't unappealing: Angelina Weasley was, after all, quite a fit Chaser.
"Say," George said, plucking a clipboard off a side table. "If you both have a few minutes, perhaps you wouldn't mind sharing your thoughts?"
"Unlikely," Draco said sourly, snapping the box's lid shut. "I'm going to drop both of these into Weasley's office as soon as we get back."
"Though I love seeing my misguided little brother pranked as much as the next bloke, I'd advise against that..."
Hermione, who had been staring at the box she held with a distant expression, came back to the conversation. She leveled a sharp look at George. "Why?"
"Well, there's no harm in using one, but the – ah – overzealous consumer may find himself passed out on the floor for a few hours with no memory of the previous day."
Hermione's eyebrows rose, and George held his hands up in defense. "There's a reason they haven't gone to market yet! Besides, if it's revenge you're looking for, I've got just the thing: a new product from our Edibles line that Ron hasn't seen yet."
Draco straightened his shoulders, and a sparkle entered George's eyes. "Ah, but you said you didn't have the time."
"We'll give you feedback," Draco said quickly. "An even trade."
George leaned back against his workbench, clipboard held at his side, and smiled widely. "Excellent! What do you say, Hermione?"
"We'll do no such thing."
Draco took a step toward her. "We won't?" he hissed, incredulous.
"You aided and abetted him, George," Hermione continued, ignoring Draco's exasperated groan.
"I didn't know how he'd use them."
"Plausible deniability may work with the Wizengamot, but I've known you for too long. We'll plot our own revenge."
Without another word, she spun on her heel and started toward the front of the shop. Draco looked back to the Weasley brother, who shrugged and set down his clipboard, recognizing the lost cause. "Had to try."
Draco pocketed his green-beige box and the olive one Hermione had been holding. "For my troubles," Draco explained.
George sighed and waved him away. "Just tell people where you got them."
"Of course," Draco lied. He took his leave, then, navigating toward the front of the store and depositing one of the Limburger beads onto a shelf on the way.
He met Hermione outside. She stood beneath the store's awning with her arms crossed and her chin raised. Her eyes were focused on the gray sky.
"I can't believe he'd do that to me," she seethed. "Embarrass me like that, in front of you, when he knows -"
She broke off, clenching her jaw shut. Draco hid a smile. Ron knew, and Blaise knew, and now, because she'd said too much, Draco knew, too.
"Weasley's never been above petty revenge," he remarked lightly.
She gave him a pointed look. "And you have?"
"My revenge isn't petty; it's sweet and well-planned."
"Oh?" She turned to face him fully, a grin playing over the curves of her mouth. "And what do you think is a fitting punishment for this most recent crime?"
"Something sweet, certainly," he said, curling an arm around her waist and pulling her close. "But let's discuss it over dinner. Your choice."
She narrowed her eyes at him, but didn't pull away. "Why can't we discuss it here?"
Draco grinned. "Because we need to leave before Weasley discovers what I've done to his shop."